


All The World Drops Dead (The Mad Girl's Love Song Remix)

by cm (mumblemutter)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-23
Updated: 2011-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-18 13:47:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mumblemutter/pseuds/cm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>(I think I made you up inside my head.)</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	All The World Drops Dead (The Mad Girl's Love Song Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aviss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviss/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Blighted Dreams](https://archiveofourown.org/works/108223) by [Aviss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviss/pseuds/Aviss). 



> Many thanks to mific and weisquared for their helpful comments!

The clearest memory he has of Mr. Charles is from a dream.

In it, he's leaning down over Robert, an expression of deep concern over his face. He tells him, "Don't worry, everything will be fine. You're going to be fine." His hand smooths over Robert's cheek. It comes away red and wet, glistening. Robert opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out but a garbled choke, and that, as always, is when he wakes up.

\---

"Mr. Fischer, do you know what Stockholm syndrome is," the very expensive, very discreet shrink he sees twice a week. This because, tired of her constant probing questions about how he felt about the kidnapping, he'd finally talked about Mr. Charles. Exploded, in a dizzying, clipped jumble of words, unable to stop no matter how hard he'd tried, no matter how horrified he was that someone, anyone, even her, knew about this.

Now he tells her, in low, measured tones, "I know what it is. I'm getting over it. I'll get over it." He tries a smile. "That's what you're here for, right? To help."

She hmms, and scribbles something down in her notebook, and Robert wishes again that he were dreaming.

\---

His feet were cold, he remembers that the most. In his dreams, Mr. Charles smiles and says, "I apologize, Robert. We'll warm you up yet."

\---

Sometimes he wakes up screaming, sheets tangled around him in a sticky sweat-drenched mess.

Sometimes he wakes up hard as fuck, and baby lotion and his hand hot and furious on his dick fixes that, his other hand clamped over his mouth to keep himself from gasping out when he comes, even though there's no-one around to hear, not in this huge house.

\---

The last day, right before one of them told Mr. Charles, in a triumphant whisper, "We've got it," Robert's blindfold slipped. He couldn't make out much, and afterwards if you held a gun to his head he couldn't tell you what the woman had looked like except that she was blonde and beautiful (if you were into that sort of thing - but Robert shared few of his father's tastes, including those in women). Mr. Charles, though. Mr. Charles Robert remembered, even if it was just for that one brief moment. Everything from the neatly slicked back hair to the small smile on his face to the way he held his head.

He looked more like a businessman than a kidnapper, is what Robert remembered.

\---

Robert doesn't think about the hows and whys of what happened. He doesn't think about what they wanted, doesn't ask why so soon after his father's death. Doesn't think about why there was no ransom demand, or about Uncle Peter's plea for him just to give in. He knows he did, in the end, and he knows they found him eventually, drugged and wandering aimlessly on the Brooklyn Bridge, blood drying on his face and almost walking directly out into traffic. He knows Uncle Peter saved him from doing exactly that, his arm warm around Robert's shoulders as he led him away.

"But you blame your uncle for what happened to you?"

"No, of course not. It wasn't his fault." He corrects himself, the words slipping out almost against his will. "I don't think it was his fault."

\---

Saito reminds him of his father. Scratch that - Saito reminds him of the man Robert always wished his father would be. He doesn't know about what happened to Robert, or at least he doesn't ask, even though their social circles are the same and clearly he must have gotten some wind of it. So when Robert tells him, "I'm going to break down my father's company. Sell it part by part - do something else with my life," Saito merely raises a brow, face calm. "It's just, I'm tired of living in my father's shadow. I don't want to be him."

"My father," Saito says slowly. "Was a fisherman. He worked hard from dawn till dusk, and he was proud of what he did. I never could gain his approval, even now."

"Is he - is he still alive?"

"Yes," Saito replies, and doesn't say anything more.

\---

Sometimes he thinks he's still dreaming. He wakes up in the middle of the night, sheets wet around his waist, and he thinks: if he wishes hard enough, if he wants it badly enough, Mr. Charles will come in through the bedroom door. He'll shove Robert flat onto the bed, hold him down. Fuck him till he can't think, can't even scream.

Sometimes he thinks that's all it will take: for him to wish for it hard enough.

\---

He tells her once, "I can't sleep anymore," and she frowns, scribbles a note down in her book. Surely she can't tell that he's lying. "It's all the meds, you see -"

"You need to take your meds, Robert," she says distractedly.

"Fuck the meds. This is my life you're talking about. I'm not crazy."

"Tell me about your dreams."

\---

He dreams of a car falling into a river, everyone in it fast asleep. He dreams of Mr. Charles holding out a hand to rescue him, save him from drowning. Pulling him onto the shore and telling him, "It's okay, Robert. Look, I saved you."

\---

"Tell me about the kidnapping," she says. "What did they want, exactly?"

"I've already told you what they wanted," Robert replies, and it sounds ridiculous, like it always does whenever he's forced to say it out loud. What did they want, exactly.

Uncle Peter whispering to him, _Just tell them, son. It'll be okay. Don't you trust me?_ And Robert's throat closed in a shimmering sort of panic as he fought against his restraints and struggled to breathe, just a little. Until a hand touched his cheek, and he knew it was Mr. Charles, there to comfort him. There to save him. _Just tell them what they want to know,_ Uncle Peter said, and then, as now, Robert couldn't speak.

"Do you ever think about your father?"

"My father's dead," Robert replies automatically, and then he stops, dizzy with a memory so sharp it has to be real. But then it's gone, and he repeats resolutely, "My father's dead."

\---

In his dreams, Mr. Charles comes up to him in a bar somewhere. Says, with all the seriousness of a bullet, "You're in trouble, Robert. Come with me if you want to live."

In his dreams, Mr. Charles saves him from everything.

\---

Sometimes Saito looks at him, and Robert can't tell what he's thinking. That's not news, Robert's either not good at reading him or Saito is really good at maintaining an expression of calmness, but sometimes. Sometimes, Saito looks at him, and there's a flash of what, if Robert didn't know any better, might just be guilt.

\---

After a while, he starts to believe he made Mr. Charles up. That all of it was just a terror induced mirage, a fantasy he made up in order to deal with the trauma.

Which is why, when he spots a familiar looking head, a man with his head bowed standing at an intersection waiting for the light to turn, all Robert can do is stop, and stare.

\---

"Do you think there's a reason why you chose to dismantle your father's company?"

"Is Uncle Peter paying you to ask these questions?"

"You're here out of choice, Robert. I'm here to help you."

"So you keep saying." When the silence stretches too deep and she's doing nothing but staring at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to snap, he says, "I don't hate my father, if that's what you mean."

"I'm sure you don't."

\---

Mr Charles' hand on his arm, guiding him through the warehouse. "This way, Robert. Keep moving." So polite, for a kidnapper. Robert was blindfolded, but he still turned his head instinctively towards his voice.

In his dreams, when he reaches to take the blindfold off his face, Mr. Charles says, "Don't. Leave it on." His fingers are wrapped around Robert's wrists so Robert knows he isn't asking, merely mouthing the words out of formality. When Mr. Charles lets go of his wrists Robert holds them together in front of him, supplicant.

"You could, if you wanted to." Head bowed and almost pleading.

"In good time, Robert. In good time." Fingers rough on his thighs, pushing them apart. Robert trembles and shakes, laces his fingers together so his hands remain bound.

\---

"It's not real, Robert. Your feelings aren't real. This man - if you say you saw him walking down the street. He's dangerous. I hope you at least understand that."

"He wouldn't hurt me. I know this." But of course he doesn't tell her about most of his dreams. Doesn't tell her how Mr. Charles holds him down, twists his hands behind his back and makes him beg, makes him relinquish control so willingly, so easily. Doesn't tell her how how gentle he is afterwards, how kind. But then: he's not stupid. He's aware the dreams aren't real, that the man calling himself Mr. Charles is not someone whose actions he can control because he exists outside of Robert's head. He's aware of all of this, and yet somehow he can't bring himself to care.

"He won't hurt me," he repeats, and stands up. "I have to go." Because Mr. Charles is waiting for him - waiting to be tracked down, waiting to be his.

"Robert," she says.

"Don't worry about me," he tells her. "I'll be just fine."


End file.
